John P. Weiss Blog

The long road to yes Photos by John P.

I went looking for meaning in an MFA program and found something quieter instead Nanuk and me in Monument Valley, Utah Nanuk is getting a bit old for road trips.

What remains after the wanting Photo by Joel Holland I’m not sure when it began, this slow withdrawal from things once loved.

The bravest thing we can do Photo: Leandra Rieger There’s a man up the street who zips around like a daredevil in one of those heavy-duty power wheelchairs.

Aging, imagination, and the beauty of leaving things undone Photo: Jordan Whitt The three of us ran like young gazelles.

Course corrections may be difficult, but regrets are worse The author off the coast of Scotland Last Thursday night, I felt the cracks widen beneath my decision.

How the smallest things can carry us home Photo by J.

When everyone is performing, silence becomes a radical act Photo by Kristina Flour There was a time when movie stars were a rare sight.

The desire which formed us in early youth Photo by Ashkan Forouzani (modified by J.

What Dickens, Henry James, and one small bird taught me about paying attention All photographs by J.

On stillness, suffering, and the wisdom of seeing Photo by Robert Thiemann (modified by J.

Find the sweet spot between comfortable mediocrity and over achievement Photo by J.

A roadtrip with Isabel Archer Photo by Farzin Yarahmadi (post production by J.

Because the gate will not open for the soulless Self-portrait.

Echoes of Little Dorrit, Special Olympics, and the holiness of small mercies Photo by BehindTheTmuna (post production by J.

I felt her everywhere The author with wife and son in Ireland She died in her ninetieth year, after a quiet afternoon paging through an Irish travel book.

On solitude, pinecones, and the healing power of quiet places "Candle in a Scottish bothy."

The old world leaves its mark not in words, but in deeds "The heart of a father is the masterpiece of nature."

In a fraying world, small kindnesses hold us together Photo by Brian Wangenheim We were sitting in the corner of the bookstore, my wife and I, adjacent to the little coffee shop that always smells of espresso and cinnamon.

What the trinket lady taught me about life Patricia Weiss and grandson.